"I still don't know what-"

"It's fairly simple. I can spell 'impeding a federal investigation.' I just need to be sure I get your name right, Mr…?"

"Reynolds… Timothy Reynolds." He turned around and faced me, and in a nasal, whiny voice, said, "I'm just trying to do my job."

"Aren't we all, Tim?" I flashed my phony FBI creds in his face. "Now what are we seeing here?"

Timothy looked around for a moment, obviously torn between doing his job and mollifying the impatient prick with the federal badge. He insisted, "Well, nothing conclusive. On the surface, it appears the victim committed suicide."

I let a moment pass and asked, "What about below the surface?"

"You must understand that I can't answer questions with any accuracy until everything's run through lab analysis."

"Of course."

"Also I haven't yet taken prints from the gun."

"Check."

"Obviously, this is very important, and-"

"Noted."

"A complete toxicology and serology will need to be worked up. If the victim was on drugs or under the influence of alcohol, that can-"

Holy shit. "Shut up, Tim." I took a deep breath and tried to recall my question. "Is there any physical matter we should be concerned about at this stage of the investigation?"

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink. Tim glanced over his shoulder at the body and replied, "Well, it's interesting. What I think is-"

"Tim… did I ask what you think? Facts."

"Oh… all right. For starters, the sheets on this bed are changed and washed weekly. The maid informed us. This is relevant and important information. It establishes time frame. The particles and residue on this sheet were deposited within the last seven days."

I flipped open my notebook, scribbled, and said, "Time frame… yes, yes, always important…" Actually, I began sketching Tim, standing perfectly erect, tottering on a chair, noose around his neck, arms straight, extended and…